Anything But Normal: A Buffyverse Tale
by Nik8100
Summary: Buffy struggles to sort out her multitude of feelings for Spike as the Scoobies help a young girl with a mysterious power elude vampires in this action romance that takes place during S7. Spuffy, Xanya (SB, XA)
1. Default Chapter

Just like the description says, this fic takes place during season 7. It picks up around the S7 episode "Never Leave Me". Buffyverse characters debut in the first chapter. This short intro sheds a bit of history as well as mystery.  
  
  
  
Please drop a review if you read this and tell me what you think. If you want to get constructive, go ahead. This gal doesn't mind. :) Constructive comments can be very helpful.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any Buffyverse characters except Spike... but only in my dreams. :)   
  
*Intro*  
  
The sound of voices tumbled and echoed through her head. Struggling to understand them was much too hard and brought pain when she tried. There was a faint light beyond her closed lids, but she was helpless to open them and greet it. She could feel herself slipping out of what little consciousness she managed to get a hold of because she had no strength.   
  
Giving in to the dark realm of slumber seemed to be her only option until she felt something cold brush lightly against her cheek. The touch traveled down the side of her face and to her neck where it paused briefly before continuing to her chest and finally resting between her breasts.   
  
Her eyes fluttered open slowly and landed on the hand that was lightly pressed against her skin. Mindful of the dull pulsing pain in her head, she lifted it carefully and met eyes with a stranger. As soon as she looked into his dark brown irises, panic set in. She tried to move her arms, but found them to be tied. The girl attempted to yank fiercely at the velvet restraints that bound her wrists together above her head, but her arms were stretched nearly taut.   
  
He put a single finger to her lips before she could scream. "Shh. Don't speak." He could hear his own desire and was unable to control it. He felt her now. Her entire being was submerge in fear and made his wanting for her that much more intense.  
  
Her eyes were wide and focused on his face. He knew she had no idea what the terror she felt was doing to him. Her blood was singing in primal rhythms to his and it was like nothing he had ever known before. He was a fool to believe he could have prepared himself for this. Possessing the knowledge of her was all the preparation there could ever be.  
  
With his right hand still to her mouth, he brought his left hand around to reveal a small golden blade with a black hilt.  
  
Her eyes moved to the blade and tears began to well up. A plump sphere of moisture fell onto the hand at her lips. She closed her eyes as he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.   
  
"I'm not going to kill you, Lauren. You just have something I want." Something he needed.  
  
As he knelt down in front of her, Lauren's tears continued to course down her cheeks and she began to sob softly. She didn't move when he touched her thigh and slid his cold hand up her smooth flesh, lifting up the flimsy white silk gown she wore. The slow, sensual motion had his own anticipation building with the passing seconds. He lifted the silk above her abdomen and held it in place.  
  
Lauren drew in a sharp breath when the cool metal of the blade pierced her skin just above the navel, and she moaned as it slid about an inch across.   
  
A second later, his lips were at the point of the incision, tasting the liquid of life that spilled from it. Flowing past his lips was something sweeter than ambrosia and more promising than any other reward under the sun. Any vampire would happily give up eternity for just a second's exposure to this euphoria-inducing pleasure.  
  
Every stitch of his being heightened with a liveliness that was unparalleled. Not even the dark ecstasy one felt as a newly sired vampire could compare. He let the blade slip to the stone floor and pulled her torso closer to him as her flavor danced over his tongue. She had no idea how special she was.  
  
With more than just a little regret and absolutely no reluctance, he ceased his revel in her fountain of strength. He knew very well that taking too much could possibly mean death for both of them. He would have to take care in resisting the urge to go beyond the satisfaction of his thirst.   
  
She closed her eyes in relief when he pulled back, then scrunched her face in disgust when he gave the cut on her belly a slow and final lick. Once again, she was staring into his eyes. Dark and edgy, they seemed to shoot right through her as if he knew her. Every last one of her secrets and desires. That gaze of his set a curdle to her blood that she had been rendered defenseless to check.   
  
Unexpectedly, the man reached up and untied her wrists from the wall. Without taking his eyes from hers, he lowered her trembling hands and brought them to his lips. The kiss he planted there was soft and lingering. Then his face relaxed into a faint smile.  
  
She'd have thought it gorgeous if the situation wasn't so eerie and frightening.  
  
He released her hand and walked to the door across the room. The heavy wood creaked open, then closed behind him.   
  
The stone floor beneath her bare feet was like ice, just as the stone wall had felt against her exposed back. She hugged her arms and looked around the room at all the dozens of candles that provided the light. Taking small and hesitant steps, Lauren moved to a dark red velvet sofa that was trimmed with a golden frame. She had just made it before her legs gave under her.   
  
The slit on her abdomen burned like his mouth had set fire to it. She lifted her hand from over it and grew slightly faint at the sight of her own blood spreading on the white fabric. She slumped lazily against the arm rest until her head was settled on it. The dark came close to claiming her when the door opened once again. Under the heaviness of her lids, she saw a woman approaching.  
  
"No, leave me. . .alone." The protest was a barely coherent mumble. For the second time, her gown rose and a moment later the burn was intensified. But only for a second. She was slipping again but was fighting with everything she had to stay alert.  
  
The woman commenced to bandaging up the wound, and worked deftly around Lauren's feeble attempts to push her hands away. When she finished, she put away the bandaging materials and picked up a crystal glass filled with liquid from a silver tray.  
  
"Here. Try to drink some of this, it'll help you to feel better." The woman reached over and held the back of Lauren's neck to pull her up.  
  
Help her to feel better? Answers would help, not this concoction that felt as thick as bile being shoved down her throat. She sipped it slowly, tolerating the taste as best she could. She nearly choked as she tried to speak. Who. . .who are you?"   
  
"My name is Maureen." She held the glass steady and waited for Lauren to finish drinking.   
  
"Where the hell am I?"  
  
Maureen sat silent for a moment and gazed at Lauren with sympathetic eyes. "I'm sorry." She brushed Lauren's hair from her face and exhaled. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.  
  
Lauren shoved the glass back at the Maureen. "Tell me." Her fatigued countenance fired up for a moment and her face looked hot with frustration. "Now."   
  
Maureen continued to calmly smooth Lauren's hair. Her eyes contained a steel softness and her face exuded a motherly charm that was meant to soothe. She looked like a parent longing to nurse a motherless child. She stared at Lauren until the girl broke under her gaze, then she gathered the lass into her arms and rocked her gently while apologizing one more time.   
  
Lauren's body jerked with huge sobs and her eyes bled warm tears. "Please..." She paused as her voice cracked. "Please help me..." She buried her contorted face in Maureen's shoulder. The pain from the cut had been forgotten.  
  
Maureen knew the girl was no more than about fifteen years old. Her innocence would be gradually taken away as she was forced to into a dark world. She would have to navigate through an existence that was nearly devoid of all light and as she learned to find her way, any simplicity of childhood would vanish with the familiarity of the dark. This was the way fate would have it.  
  
As painful as the momentary departure would be, Maureen had to leave her. She gave Lauren one last squeeze before carefully nudging the girl to lie down.   
  
"No." Lauren watched through her tears as Maureen delicately wrenched her fingers from around her arm. "Don't, please. I'm so scared..."  
  
The heavy door closed and Lauren was left alone on the velvet sofa with no comfort or any clue as to what was happening. She laid down, grabbing a pillow to turn her face into. She never felt so lonely or frightened in all her sixteen years.   
  
*-*-*-* 


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks to all who have read so far! I hope you enjoy chapter one.  
  
*Chapter One*  
  
"Dawn?!"   
  
The house was quiet when Buffy returned home from her day at school. Her job as a high school counselor was becoming more and more enjoyable, but nonetheless stressful. If someone had told her a few years ago that she would be advising teenagers during regular office hours, she would have probably thought it was nothing more than a desperate ploy from the Big Bad du jour to sidetrack her.   
  
She set her bag down by the coat rack and stood at the base of the stairs. "Dawn!" Silence. Usually the reason Dawn never answered her was because she was in her room playing loud music with the door shut. Buffy had chided Dawn about that habit time and time again, but the girl was just hard headed.  
  
As soon as Buffy turned to hang up her jacket, Dawn bounced down the stairs.   
  
"Buffy, hey." She adjusted the headphones around her neck and shuffled her discman from hand to hand. "I was just doing my homework."  
  
The Slayer stared at her sister incredulously. "You were actually doing your homework? I usually have to all but drag you upstairs by your ear before that happens. I seriously thought I might have to resort to chaining you to your desk."  
  
"All the chains have been reserved for Spike, remember?"  
  
Buffy ignored Dawn's last statement and started up the stairs. "I'm gonna change into something more suitable for slayage. When I'm finished, you can help me prepare a quick dinner before I go patrolling."   
  
Dawn waited for Buffy to pass her on the stairs, then she followed behind her. "Buffy, you can't just keep detouring around the fact that there is an insane vampire locked in our basement." Before Dawn could blink an eye, the door to Buffy's bedroom was closed in her face. "Okay, apparently you can." She turned on her heels and headed back to her own room.  
  
During her change of clothing, Buffy tried desperately not to let her thoughts move to Spike. She just didn't want to think about him. Much. Truthfully, she didn't know what she would do about him, but he had to remain chained in the basement because he had started killing again. Soul and all.   
  
She found Dawn at her desk reading a textbook and tapping her pencil in time to whatever tune was playing from the CD. Buffy, now dressed in black pants and a white tank top, sat on the corner of Dawn's desk and waited for the headphones to come down.  
  
"So, are you gonna help me with the food, or what?"  
  
Dawn cast an amused expression at her older sister. "You wanna take turns dialing each of the digits to the pizza place? I think you can handle that on your own."  
  
"No, I was thinking about having actual food tonight. I've been practicing and I think my cooking skills have gone from 'yuck' to 'nearly edible'. What do you say?"  
  
"Are you kidding? My stomach still hasn't recovered from your last attempt at making an omelet. Unless you feel like signing another sick note for me, I suggest we have pizza tonight."  
  
"I think your honesty is a little too blatant. Maybe I should lock you in the basement with Spike and let him psycho-babble you to death."  
  
Dawn set down her pencil. "And yet, that would still be better than tasting your cooking."  
  
"Like you could do better?"  
  
"No, and I won't give you the chance to make tasteless cracks about my complete lack of culinary skills. You can't speak from experience like I can."  
  
"No? I think someone is forgetting about a little invention called the peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich." Buffy wrinkled her face in disgust.   
  
Dawn rolled her eyes. "That was so three years ago."  
  
"Well the memory of the taste has managed to stick clear and strong in my head. See what I get for appeasing a bratty younger sibling?"  
  
"Yeah, the same thing I get every time I'm forced to eat one of your gross dishes. . .sick."  
  
Looking at Dawn through narrowed eyes, Buffy gave in, and thus admitted to the fact that her cooking--if you could call it that--suffered the deficiency of skill and edibility. "Fine. Pizza it is. I guess it is the easiest solution." She put her right index finger in the air and flexed it. "All I have to do is prep my dialing finger."  
  
Dawn smiled and picked her pencil back up. "Knew you'd see it my way."  
  
"Well, I'll just make myself scarce so you can get back to. . .studying." She still couldn't believe what she was seeing. She stood apart from the desk and turned to leave.  
  
Downstairs, Buffy stopped at the basement door and put her ear to it. It was pretty quiet down there. When she listened yesterday, she could hear Spike's rambling rising louder in volume and the sound of the chains clacking against the wall. She had opened the door and flown down the stairs, afraid that he might have been hurting himself. He was standing facing the wall and banging his fist against it. The sound from the metal reverberated through the basement. He stopped immediately and turned to Buffy when he heard her footfalls.  
  
His face was tear streaked and his hair was an untamed mess on his head. "Buffy." He spoke her name with a broken voice that was barely above a whisper. Lately, that had been the only manner in which he said her name. "Am I scaring you?" He let out a deep and throaty laugh and tossed his head back to briefly glance at the ceiling. He looked at the Slayer with glazed eyes and said, "I scare myself all the time. I don't expect you to stand it when I can't even. . ." He swallowed and averted his gaze to the floor. "I'm fine, really. I deserve to be tired--but not rid--of myself."  
  
Buffy stood a few feet from him and stared. His image struck her heart like. . . like something she couldn't quite pinpoint. She wanted badly to yield to him, and wished that she could hold him. She wanted to give him the rest he so longed for without relinquishing the will to keep her feelings for him tucked deep in the shadows of her heart. She was afraid of what shedding light on them might do and wasn't very eager to find out. Her only choice was to remain distant.  
  
Spike had martyred his sanity to make amends for the pain he had caused her and in turn she was forced to make him keep it to himself when all he wanted was trade pain for forgiveness.   
  
"Spike... " She looked away from him. The hurt on his face was too much to process. "I'll get you some blood." She rushed back up the stairs, all the while feeling his eyes on her. Before Buffy went back down, she had to take a few minutes to compose herself.   
  
Today, she didn't know if she could take the journey down the steps to face Spike. He was so quiet. Maybe she shouldn't disturb him. She griped the knob and slowly began to turn it. The sound of the front door closing stopped her from going further.   
  
Buffy exhaled and slid her hand down the door for a second before walking through the living room. "Willow. What's up?"  
  
"Hi, Buffy." The redhead plopped onto the sofa and let out an exasperated sigh. "I don't remember academics being this exhausting. I think I left my brain back in England. You think Giles could have it FedEx-ed to me?"  
  
Buffy sat beside her best friend. "I could just imagine Giles handling that over-sized brain of yours. Knowing Giles, he probably would never give it back. He would have way too much fun with it." Buffy raised her brows in thought. "And I thought Dawn taking responsibility for her studies was weird." She patted Willow's knee a couple of times. "Don't worry, you'll be back in the swing of things in no time."  
  
"I hope so." Willow sat back and sighed again. "So how's it going with Spike?"  
  
Buffy's comfort level took a sudden plunge, but she managed to keep her tone light. She shrugged nonchalantly. "You know, same old, same old. I still haven't figured out how to make rambling plus babbling equal sense."  
  
"No, don't start talking about pluses and equals. I don't even think I can take on basic arithmetic right now."  
  
"Sorry, Will. Succinctly put, no progress has been made."  
  
Willow sat up and faced Buffy. "Maybe you're not trying hard enough. You can start by being honest."  
  
"Honest?" Buffy was taken slightly aback by Willow's statement. "I've been honest."  
  
"Buffy... " Willow's expression softened. "How exactly do you feel about Spike now that he has a soul?"  
  
"Well, I. . ." Buffy stood up quickly and started to fidget. She had to make a conscious effort not to start pacing.   
  
Willow sat calmly and waited patiently for Buffy to stop stammering and give her a real response.  
  
Frustrated and annoyed, the Slayer put her hands on her hips and stared down at Willow. "I don't want to talk about this now."  
  
"Liar," Willow said, smiling. "This is burning you up inside and you're just aching to get it out."   
  
Buffy headed for the kitchen. "I have pizza to order." She knew Willow wouldn't give up. "Let it go Will, or I'm gonna say the numbers aloud as I dial them. And if that isn't enough, I'll count out the money and add the tip right in front of you."  
  
Willow stopped at the kitchen doorway. "Ooh, harsh," she teased. "I'll leave it be... for now. Where's Dawn?"  
  
"Upstairs behaving strangely. In other words, doing her homework."  
  
"Without the daily dragging by her ear up to her room?"  
  
Buffy cradled the receiver between her ear and shoulder and began dialing. "Yep."  
  
Willow grinned with satisfaction. "Hmm, I think a congratulations is in order here." With that, she was up the stairs.  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
There was a scant crowd at the Sunnydale bus terminal. The enormous standard clock on the wall read 5:25. Dusk would soon arrive. The young woman hefted her bag on her shoulder and tugged at her black leather skirt that barely came down to mid-thigh as she walked. The damn thing just kept rising of its own accord. Once she was safely put up, one of her first priorities would be to buy some new clothes. Jeans would be nice. All she wanted to do was relax in a pair of jeans. The baggier the better.  
  
It seemed that every man in the terminal had his oglers primed and focused on her. And as she passed them, she knew their eyes were all but tacked to her backside. Annoying as it was, it couldn't be helped. Her current attire, believe it or not, was one of the most modest in her wardrobe. She had removed her three inch heels on the bus ride long before the bus entered the town of Sunnydale. They now dangled in her hand, but she would have to put them back on before she went outside.   
  
She surveyed the few taxi cabs lined along the curb, and as luck would have it, all the drivers were of the male persuasion. After putting her shoes back on, she approached a cab and opened the back door. She tossed her bag across the seat and got in.   
  
The driver's blue eyes gave her a quick once over in the rearview mirror before he spoke. "Where to, darlin'?"  
  
"1630 Revello Drive." Through the windshield, she could see the sun sinking lower behind the dimming horizon. "And hurry, please."  
  
*-*-*-* 


	3. Chapter 2

*Chapter 2*  
  
The colors of the sunset bled across the sky and illuminated the thinly stretched clouds. The moderate breeze that shifted the leaves of the trees put a mild chill in the air and the young woman thought about rolling up her window, but the smoky stench of the car was almost unbearable.   
  
The taxi cruised down the darkening streets of Sunnydale, and in a few minutes, they were out of the city and into the suburbs. She peered out of her window at the passing houses and noticed that they were passing too slowly. She leaned forward in the seat to take a look at the speedometer. The driver was only going about thirty miles an hour.  
  
With the air hitting her face and blowing stray locks of black curls in it, she asked him, "Is there any way you could move faster? I need to get to where I'm going before the sun sets completely."  
  
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror with those ice blue eyes of his and raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. He braked at a red light and turned around with his arm laid casually across the back of the seat as if he was going to back the car up. "You a street walker?" he asked with sinister grin on his face. He was staring directly at the cleavage that showed when her jacket slipped back on her shoulder.  
  
She quickly pulled the jacket tight around her and looked him right in the eye. "No." The one word came out in a low irritated whisper.   
  
The light turned green and the horn sounded from the car behind them.  
  
The driver turned around slowly, his gaze lingering on her face as he did. He continued on the course, but paid only divided attention to the road.   
  
She watched him watching her with hungry blue eyes. She rolled her own eyes and regarded him. "Listen. There isn't a chance in hell that your gonna 'make it' with me, so just take me where I wanna go." She sat back and rested her head. It was just minutes away from full blown darkness and she didn't have time to mess around with this perverted jerk.   
  
The cab came to a stop near the curb. Her head came up. "Is this 1630 Revello Drive?" She looked for the address number on the house they stopped in front of. No, it wasn't. Damn it. Why was this happening to her? "Is there a problem or something?" she asked.  
  
He turned around once again. "So what's your price, honey?"  
  
She huffed and threw up her hands. "I am not a hooker, you asshole!" She was shouting at him now. "Can we just go!" The only light around was coming from the street lights and porch lanterns. Every bleeding trace of the sun was gone. This is what it had come to and now she would have to concentrate. Damn the male species. The whole lot of them.   
  
When she returned from her thoughts, she found his large and grubby tanned hand almost touching the hair at her temples. She shoved it away and reached for the door handle. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back before she could grasp it.  
  
She winced because his grip put pressure on an unhealed cut just below her palm. She struggled to be free of him, but he was strong and his grip was tight. Finally, she shook back the jacket sleeve of her other arm and balled her fist. The blow stuck the man square in the nose.   
  
He cried out in pain and released her. Both of his hands went straight to his bleeding nose.  
  
Without being cautious of oncoming traffic, she swung the door open and stepped out into the street. Startled by the horn of the approaching car, she dropped her bag. The headlights blinded her and she stumbled backward to the ground. She put her arms up and braced herself for the impact as best as she could.  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
Dawn slapped Willow's hand as she reached for a slice of Pizza. "Don't you dare touch my side. All the anchovies are mine."  
  
Willow almost laughed at the mad gleam in Dawn's eye. "Wouldn't dream of it, Dawnie." She took a slice from the pepperoni side. "There's just something about dead, salty fish sprawled across melted cheese that makes me say eewww."  
  
Dawn smiled as she downed a bite of pizza with orange soda. "You just have no idea what you're missing. Is it my turn?" She set her glass back on the table and picked up her cards.   
  
Willow nodded. "Mmm-hmm, your turn."   
  
"Um, let me see. . ." Dawn studied her hand with a critical eye. "Do you have any... " She glanced at Willow over her cards and arched a brow. "Kings?"  
  
"You knew I wanted kings! Damn." She sulked a bit before she plucked the two cards from her hand and tossed them at Dawn. "Cheater."  
  
"No way!" She picked up the cards and spread her matches on the counter. "I'm like an expert. Just ask Buffy, I kick her ass all the time."  
  
"Dawn." The redhead cast her a warning glance.  
  
"Sorry." She traced the edge of her last remaining card with her finger. "And I thought you were the liberal one."  
  
"Hey, I'm loose and hip and all that jazz, but I can't let you turn into a potty mouth. Buffy would have a fit."  
  
They both turned their heads in the direction of the basement when they heard the sound of chains meeting with the wall. They looked at each other then back to the door again.  
  
Willow spoke first. "You think something's wrong with him?"  
  
"Uh... yeah. He's gone crazy, remember?"  
  
"No, I mean, do you think he wants something?"   
  
Dawn remembered suddenly. "Oh!" She smiled when Willow nearly jumped at her outburst. "Buffy forgot to take Spike his blood before she went patrolling. He's probably just makin' with the cranky."  
  
Both girls stood at the same time. "I'll get it." Just as they stood together, so they spoke those words together.  
  
"No, Dawn. Buffy doesn't want you going near Spike."  
  
Dawn folded her arms across her chest. "Well, Buffy's not here."  
  
"Sit," Willow said sternly. "Play with your anchovies or something. I'll be right back." She went to the fridge to prepare Spike's blood.  
  
Dawn plopped in her chair and picked up her soda. She didn't drink it, just sloshed it around in the glass. She watched it fizz up, then settle again. Everyone is so unfair to her. . .blah, blah, blah. They treat her like a baby. . .blah, blah, blah. These were her thoughts until Willow walked past her with the warmed mug of blood for Spike. Looking to be sick from boredom, Dawn eyed Willow until she disappeared behind the basement door.  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
The vehicle screeched to a halt mere inches from her. She opened her eyes and stared down at her legs. The light was shining on them and she could see the bloody scrape on the outside of her right calf. She scrambled off the ground quickly.  
  
"Are you OK?"   
  
The young woman looked up into the face of the stranger. "I'm fine," she said, brushing off her jacket and skirt.  
  
"I'm sorry. I--I didn't see you there. . ."   
  
The cab took off, leaving behind tire marks on the pavement and a thin trail of smoke.   
  
The man gestured toward the speeding taxi. "Did something happen with him?"   
  
"I'll say." She was bleeding, the sun had gone down, and her ride was gone. What a flaming mess. Panicking wasn't an option. It would only make matters worse. Her eyes darted around to every shadowed place she could see. Bad idea. Now she was becoming afraid, and with her, bleeding and afraid were not good things to be at night. Not to mention being stranded in a strange town. OK, so that combination isn't good for anyone, but still. . .   
  
He moved his hands as if he wasn't sure it was safe to touch her. "I feel responsible. Can I give you a ride?"  
  
A gamble had to be made either way. She didn't know whether the guy standing next to her was a jerk or a gentleman. Maybe he lingered somewhere in between. She could go with him, or walk the dark streets fearing what might come from the shadows to take her. Trying with all her might to stay calm, she exhaled and looked at him. "It isn't your fault. I should be more careful. And I could definitely use a ride."  
  
He nodded and picked up her bag, but she snatched it from him as soon as he did. "I got it," was all she said.   
  
Next, he went to open the door for her. Just as he reached for the handle, she rushed to grab it. "I can do it." She got in and closed the door.  
  
He started the car again and began driving down the street. "My name's Xander." She ignored him and stared out the passenger side window.   
  
"What, are you allergic to niceness?"   
  
"I want to go to 1630 Revello Drive." She still refused to turn to him. "The sooner the better."  
  
"Right. It would be nice to know where I'm--wait. Did you say 1630 Revello Drive?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"That's exactly where I was headed. You know, that's quite the coincidence. It would be perfect if I hadn't almost plowed you over with my car."  
  
She turned now to stare at him like he was an idiot. "You know the Slayer?" Her voice was cool and monotone.  
  
Xander perked up a bit. "Know her? She saves my life practically every other day. Yep, me and the Slayer are the best of buds."  
  
She raised a brow. "Really?"  
  
"Sure. And you know what else? We--"  
  
"A simple yes would have sufficed." She didn't smile, but was satisfied with the rude manner in which she had cut him off.   
  
Xander looked somewhat defeated for a moment. After making a left turn, he asked, "So, you got a name?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Mind sharing?"  
  
She didn't feel particularly inclined to, but she did. "Lauren."  
  
Xander didn't notice the way she was dressed until now. Though it was a struggle, he kept his eyes to himself and stayed quiet for the duration of the journey until they had arrived at their destination.   
  
"Well Lauren, we're here." He pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. "Do you know Buffy?"  
  
"Not really. I need her help."  
  
Xander put on a thoughtful expression and patted a lazy rhythm on the steering wheel. Looking down, he stated rather than questioned, "Don't we all at some point or another." 


	4. Chapter 3

*Chapter 3*  
  
The voices in his head had long stopped. At least the ones that didn't belong there in the first place, anyway. It was only his conscience that nagged him now. He never got rest. At first, he had tried to sleep as much as possible. He thought that unconsciousness would bring him some kind of peace. But almost as soon as he closed his eyes, he saw her. Those hazel eyes round and huge with horror and disbelief. Her body shaking and uncharacteristically frail beneath her robe. He could only imagine that after he saw her expression, his own face took on the same wide-eyed look. She didn't understand. He didn't even understand now why he thought that forcing himself on her was an adequate way for either of them to prove that there was love between them.   
  
Love? Was it even possible for a soulless demon to love? He wasn't so sure now.   
  
He had tried to make himself feel the pain that Buffy felt that night in her bathroom. His attempts were, of course, made in vain. It really was impossible, wasn't it? He knew the depth of the Slayer's emotions, perhaps better than anyone else. With a cold and un-beating heart, he had known. Now that he had a soul, could he bring himself to feel even a fraction of what she felt that night? He would try. Spike thought he owed her that.   
  
So he tried forcing himself to feel the hot sting that the tears caused on her cheeks. The unbearable sensation of her heart dividing, leaking precious blood. Why did her hands tremble as she held the front of her robe in place, hiding from him the assets he so violently sought after just moments before? She thought that was what he had come after. That night, he had made himself out to be some savage, heartless monster coveting what he had no right to. He only proved to her his nature that night. It was wrong, all wrong.  
  
Now he had a soul. A bleeding, burning soul.   
  
She was still alive, which was more than could be said of them. The countless victims all had one thing in common--the sheer displeasure of being murdered by him. He saw them, too. At random, the events of no particular killing would emerge from his memory to tear mercilessly at his conscience. Then he would awake to see Buffy's face above him. Her real face, not the evil illusion that had urged him to kill. He would try to touch her, but his reach was always brought up short by the metal restraints. She never got close enough to touch.  
  
Buffy hadn't come down at all today. She usually did. Her eyes would look emotionlessly upon him. And when she could no longer hold on to her mock bitterness, she cast her gaze elsewhere so he couldn't see her eyes. He imagined her bitterness had changed to pity when she did that. Then he was glad she turned away from him. He'd much rather see the bitterness than the pity. He felt hedidn't deserve the latter.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
It wasn't Buffy's voice he heard, but it was familiar. He sat sagged against the wall, exhausted from banging the chains. Someone had finally heard him. He didn't stand. Only Buffy could change his weakness into the strength he needed to stand. And she wasn't here.  
  
"Red." He greeted her and nodded to the mug in her hands. "That for me?"  
  
"Yeah." She stepped closer to him and knelt down.   
  
She was easily within his reach and held the mug out for him after adjusting the straw. She could see that he was weak and offered to hold the mug while he drank from it.  
  
Spike let a ghost of a smile grace his lips at Willow's offer. "What's the deal, Red?"  
  
Willow narrowed her eyes then shook her head once. The motion gave silky animation to her bright tresses. "No deal." She held the mug steady. "Do I look like the devil to you? I don't want your soul, Spike. I'm just trying to be nice."  
  
His smile faded altogether. Nice? He didn't deserve nice. "I've done things in the past to hurt you, too." He held her gaze without wavering. "You can treat me like the monster that I am."  
  
Something pricked Willow's heart when she saw the pained look on his face, in his sharp blue eyes.   
  
Spike noticed it immediately, though she didn't turn away as Buffy often did. He was the one forced to break eye contact. No pity. Not for him.  
  
"I won't judge you, Spike, or throw accusations in your face. I don't think I have the right."  
  
He eyed her dubiously. She had confused him. "But you do... "   
  
Willow raised her free hand. "Uh, ex black-eyed vainy girl who tried to end the world, here. I've hurt people too. Just like you... "  
  
He raised his voice a little then. "No! Not like me. I'm a bloody monster, a fiend! Have been for over a century. Not like me," he said again.  
  
Now she didn't know what to say. She sat back on her heels and lifted the mug. "Here, drink."  
  
He did, keeping is eyes on the depleting red liquid. He wouldn't meet eyes with her, this girl who was being so nice to him. It was the wrong girl.  
  
Willow broke the silence. "I hurt her too, Spike. You must hate that she's forgiven me and not you also." She didn't mean to say that and regretted those words immediately.  
  
He wouldn't hear this. She was trying to sympathize--no empathize with him. "You were never a thing without a heart or soul. Buff--Buffy always loved you. . .like a sister."  
  
"Yes, I did have a soul and a heart. But I had buried them in a darkness so deep that I couldn't find them. And I didn't want to. I thought it would be easier if I couldn't feel. And both you and I know that it is easier to hurt people when you don't feel anything."  
  
Spike had finished with his blood and had bowed his head . She just kept talking about things he didn't wish to hear.   
  
She made him look at her by gently grabbing his chin and turning his head. "You know what brought me back, Spike? Love."  
  
What she just said hurt him. Probably more than she knew. "Buffy doesn't love me."  
  
Willow realized her critical mistake. One should not try to fix another person's crisis while running on empty. She was doing more damage than repair, but she persisted nonetheless. "I'm not sure how Buffy feels about you, but I do know that she trusted you. You've done a lot for both her and Dawn."  
  
Spike eyes stung like tears wanted to come. "She trusted me. I guess I owe the fact that I'm not a soddin' pile of dust to that."  
  
"Well, yeah, there's that." She let go of his face. "But the truth is, Spike, just like you owe Buffy your life, she owes you hers. You protected Dawn and took care of her after Buffy died. Dawn is Buffy's life, we all know that."  
  
Spike clenched his fists. "Don't do that! You can't make it all better with your logic and your bloody empathy!" He was sorry when Willow moved back a bit. He calmed down, and his voice took on an odd and distant tone. He stared beyond Willow and into some unseen depth. "You can't make it better. Only she can. And she's not here."  
  
Willow stood up, dusted off her pants and looked down on him. "Maybe I can't help you. I just thought you'd appreciate the company."  
  
The door to the basement opened and Dawn's voice streamed down the steps and interrupted the quiet. "Willow! Xander's here!"  
  
She turned to leave.  
  
"Thanks, Re--Willow. I do appreciated it."  
  
She didn't turn around, only paused before ascending the stairs. "You're welcome, Spike."  
  
So he was alone now, left to sit and stew in his own guilt. Spike drew his knees into his chest and rested his head. For the first time in a long time, the darkness felt unwelcoming. He laughed silently to himself as he realized the greatness of that paradox.   
  
*-*-*-*   
  
  
  
The silver iridescence of the crescent moon was shrouded behind dark clouds. The moist masses would soon travel on to let the illustrious beauty of the heavenly bodies, the bright twinkling stars, prevail over the night sky. The fairness of nature's very own night light suspended above the earth was a sight to behold.   
  
Her longing to be able to appreciate this aspect of nature had died some time ago. After becoming the Slayer, she wished that she could just stare in awe of the sparkling sky and take it purely for granted. Not long after did she realize that she had fifteen whole years to do this, fifteen normal years. But she never had.  
  
Now the diamond brilliance was nothing more than the light by which she slayed. The glow by which she conquered all kinds of demons with fists and will. The whole innocence of what drew her to the charm of the sky was gone, all withered by death and the lonlely feel of the cemetery.  
  
Buffy walked between the graves at a slower pace than usual. Tonight, the stake she carried seemed heavier than just a few ounces of wood. Her thoughts were just lousy with things she'd rather not cast a thought to.   
  
Nothing much had happened on the slayage front so far, and now she was beginning to crave a good, solid slay. A challenge. She wanted some big, huge nasty to jump from the dark and try to take her. She'd pummel the thing more than she needed to before the slay. This would help clear her head of the things she wished it to be rid of. Only momentarily of course, but she would happily take what she could get.  
  
Someone, or something was treading on the grass a few feet behind her. She would pretend to be oblivious to its presence and wait until she could almost feel it's breath gently stirring the strands of her hair. Buffy tightened her grip around the stake and drew a shallow breath.  
  
She turned just in time to block a punch that was meant to connect with her head. She caught the fist, and this left the heart of the creature wide open and welcoming to anything pointy. The vampire's reaction was too slow and Buffy didn't even watch as the weightless ashes fell to the grass and disappeared. No challenge there. And she had even given him the advantage of keeping her back turned.   
  
That vamp was a tease. Now she ached even more for some action, her senses heightened and ready. Her fist connecting with bumpy flesh would more than hit the spot.   
  
Spike. The image burst uninvited into her head. The strong and unwanted memory of his face all beaten and bloodied by her own hands pierced her memory. Then came his words, "You always hurt the ones you love, pet." The ones she loved. Did Spike belong in that group or not? At the time of the event, she'd have said no. Make that a resounding 'hell no'. Confusion was hard. She now knew this. And what was even more troubling, she didn't know if clarification would make things any easier.  
  
'On with the slaying, less with the thinking', she thought to herself. So she pressed on, the celestial shine above pouring over her loose blond locks. Right. On with the slaying.  
  
*-*-*-* 


	5. Chapter 4

*Chapter 4*  
  
An awkward silence hovered in the living room of the Summers' home just moments before Dawn opened her mouth.  
  
"Hey Willow, did you have any problems giving Spike his b--"  
  
"Bone!" She shouted almost hysterically to cover for Dawn. "No, Spike has been a good doggie today." Willow cast Dawn a 'play along for your own good' glance.  
  
Dawn nodded and fumbled with her words. "O-Oh, um, right." She looked at their guest. "Spike can be a bad dog sometimes. We have to be careful when giving Spike his... bone."  
  
Xander stood up from his chair. "He should be put down. We don't need any more bad dogs running around biting poor defenseless people."  
  
'Good save,' Willow thought to herself, even though she appeared to be mildly psychotic. She played nervously with the ends of her hair and switched gears. "So Lauren, you need Buffy's help, right? Well you could start with us, Buffy wouldn't mind if. . ."  
  
"I mind." Her voice was a little callused. "Sorry, I just need to speak with the Slayer first."  
  
Willow nodded. "I understand. So. Do you need a vampire slayed or something?"  
  
"Well, yeah," she said slowly. "Isn't that what a Slayer does?"  
  
"Most of the time." Xander began pacing the living room. "But you see, there are other Big Bads that need to be taken care of. Like huge hybrid demonoid thingies and pesky soldier guys with complex electrical rifles..."  
  
"Oooh, don't forget hell gods!"  
  
"Of course not, Dawnie," Xander said before continuing. "Or a hell god with a hideous fashion sense that was almost as frightening as the havoc she wreaked. The Slayer kicks the ass of evil no matter what form it takes."  
  
Lauren stared at Xander in near awe. "Really? That's interesting."  
  
For the first time tonight, Xander saw her face take on another expression other than a cross between a frown and a scowl. Now trying to keep his eyes off her legs wasn't so much of a problem.   
  
He motioned to include Dawn and Willow. "We help sometimes. We're the fearless ass-kickers of evil."  
  
Awkward silence again.   
  
It sounded as if this Slayer had quite a bit of experience under her belt. But what she needed to tell Buffy and couldn't tell her friends was that things were a lot more complicated than slaying a vampire. She doubted the Slayer had the expertise to help out with the one element which added even more difficulty to the challenge. Lauren almost began to think that she would be putting a huge and unwanted burden on the Slayer and her friends. But she had no other choice and it was their job. Going back wasn't an option no matter what.  
  
She reached down and fingered the bandage on the outside of her right calf. The bleeding had stopped and she was very much relieved at that. All three of them had stared at her like she was a crazy woman when she yelled at them, demanding the first aid kit. She wouldn't let any of them touch her, especially Xander. She fumbled with the kit and cleaned the wound herself as fast as she could. None of them had bothered asking about her behavior concerning that. She now knew that they had been exposed to matters more unusual in nature than a woman furiously seeking a med kit.  
  
When things couldn't possibly get more uncomfortable, knocking in the form of quick spurts sounded at the door.  
  
"It's too early to be Buffy," Willow said with mild concern as she got up to answer it. "Anya?"  
  
She burst past Willow and into the house. "I know he's here. Where is that lousy... ?!"   
  
Anya stormed into the living room, blushing with anger. "Xander!" She pulled a single key out of her pocket and held it up. "You changed your locks! How could you do that?!"  
  
"Anya, calm down." He walked toward her with his hands up in defense.   
  
"No! I most certainly will not." She threw the key at him. "Do you know how frustrating it is trying to get into a locked apartment with the wrong key? I tried for hours."  
  
"Anya... "  
  
"All I wanted were my pink lace panties. You know the flossy ones that I like to--"  
  
"Anya!"  
  
"What? We're all good friends here. Willow and Dawn already know about our kinky love-making rituals." She followed Xander's gaze to the girl sitting on the sofa. "Oh... hello". I don't know you, do I?"  
  
Lauren shook her head and attempted to smile. "No, I don't think so." Then she muttered under her breath, "And something tells me that makes me lucky."  
  
Xander introduced them quickly and nervously. "Anya, this is Lauren. Lauren, Anya."   
  
"Who is she Xander, your latest conquest?" Anya pushed her bangs out of her eyes.  
  
He waived off her question. "That's ridiculous, my latest--you think I have conquests?"  
  
"That was not a compliment, you idiot." She gave Lauren a once over. "She certainly looks like a conquest."  
  
Lauren sat back on the sofa and crossed her legs. "You seem to be hurt at the moment, so I'll let that one slide." She spoke with a pleasant tone and gave Anya a sweet smile with a threat attached to it. "But talk about me like that a again and I won't hesitate to rip you a new one, especially after the night I've had."  
  
"Ladies, can't we all just get along like nice normal people here?" Xander was playing the mediator now, but if this thing came to blows, he hoped he wouldn't be too flattered at having two women fighting over the likes of him to get out of dodge.  
  
"I don't know, ask the one who likes to speak of kinky sexcapades in the presence of minors," Lauren said.  
  
Xander looked down at her in surprise. "You're a minor?"  
  
"No." Lauren nodded toward Dawn. "She obviously is."  
  
Dawn, who had been quiet for a while spoke up. "It isn't that obvious... is it?" She tossed her hair and sat up straighter. "No really, is it?"  
  
"Yes," everyone in the room answered at once.  
  
Xander sat back down and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "Look, Anya. I changed the locks because I thought it was the best thing to do."  
  
"The best thing?" She sat on the coffee table and pouted. "Just because I come over without calling or being invited whenever I want isn't a good reason to lock me out."  
  
"Yeah, because trespassing is just so courteous." Xander bumped his forehead with his hand. "You're right. Silly me."  
  
"Listen people," Willow started, "can we all at least try to be civil to each other until Buffy comes home? Please?"  
  
Xander answered first. "All right, Will. But only because you asked."  
  
The redhead glanced at Anya next. "Well?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Anya, you wanna try to tone down the enthusiasm a bit? C'mon, once more... with feeling."  
  
Anya grumbled out another 'sure'. "How's that for feeling?"  
  
"Lauren? How about it?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
Willow was pleased with herself. "Good."   
  
*-*-*-*  
  
Maureen had already hit the floor before she could register what had happened. She lay there, holding her smarting cheek. She knew what was going to happen and was ready for it.  
  
The blow left her a little dizzy and she had trouble finding her balance, but once she did, she was up and staring him straight in the eye.  
  
He looked down on her. "I admire that about you, you know. Your incredible strength." He shook his head. "We had a deal, Maureen. He reached out and softly touched her red locks that were beginning to gray at the temples. Then he grabbed them in his fist and pulled her head back. "You know what I'm going to do, don't you?"  
  
Maureen's eyes were welling up as her hair felt like it was being pulled from its very roots. "Yes," she rasped out.  
  
"You love her, don't you? Like a daughter. Almost as much as I do."  
  
"You don't love her, Gabriel." The pain in her scalp worsened and a tear fell. "You're evil, you could never love anyone." She swallowed. "You're just a diseased bastard who gets off on hurting people."  
  
"Oh, Maureen." He made a tisking noise. "Cursing so close to your time of death." His dark eyes became thoughtful. "It's more than that. You'll never know what she means to me."  
  
"Perhaps not, and I don't think I want to know." He yanked her hair again and she cried out. The throbbing was becoming unbearable. "She doesn't belong to you."  
  
"But she does. And I'll get her back, kicking and screaming if it comes to that."  
  
With twin tears running down her cheeks, she said. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? You reveled in her pain like some sick fiendish--Ahh!" Her scalp burned now as he pulled her hair even tighter.   
  
"Bite your tongue, woman. I could make it slow, you know. I can make you beg for it."   
  
He touched her lips with his other hand, then whispered in her ear. "I always thought you were beautiful enough to eat, even at this age."   
  
His hand traveled down the swell of her hips then around to the small of her back. She knew his face had changed. Maureen was living the last seconds of her life.  
  
She remained silently, making no sound as his teeth pierced her flesh and sliced open her jugular. She closed her eyes and felt the life being drained out of her. "God help her," she whispered as she passed into darkness.   
  
Maureen had spent years of her life with Gabriel because she was indebted to him. Many years. He had already taken what was left of her youth and her dreams. And now he had taken her life.  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
The house was dark save the soft glow of a lamp in the living room when Buffy returned home. Someone must have had heard her wish because the slaying really picked up later that night. She had fun, more fun than she should ever have slaying and her body was paying for it now. Her muscles throbbed and screamed to be relaxed.   
  
There was someone on the sofa, someone she didn't know. Buffy drew a stake and walked in slowly.   
  
The woman sitting on the sofa raised her head from a magazine. "Buffy?"  
  
"Yeah, that's me. The Vampire Slayer." She added the last part strictly to intimidate. "Are you one of Dawn's friends?"  
  
The girl smiled. "No, but I'd like to be. She seems like a nice kid."  
  
Buffy relaxed her grip on the stake. "You don't look much older than a kid yourself. And oh, I forgot to ask. What the hell are you doing in my home?"  
  
"She's here for your help, Buffy." Willow was coming down the stairs. "Sorry I left you."  
  
The woman shrugged. "It's okay. I understand that nature calls occasionally." She looked at Buffy's stake. "I'm just glad I don't have any stab wounds in the general chest region. . .or anywhere else." She stood up and extended her hand. "My name is Lauren Santos-Pembrook. I need your help." 


End file.
